


Playing their Game

by bluechaostamer



Series: A Game on the Side [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Mentions of John and Seb, Moriarty and Holmes kinda sorta being friends in a weird way, What happens after that last message?, two rivals discussing subordinates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluechaostamer/pseuds/bluechaostamer
Summary: SEQUEL TO 'PLAY NICE WHEN I'M GONE'. I'd recommend reading that first, but I think this could stand alone?Moriarty pays a visit to Sherlock Holmes. Both geniuses have had better days. It's a shame that those better days involve two other men that are no longer by their sides...





	Playing their Game

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long while since their right hands were no longer with them. With the game on hiatus for a long time, the two geniuses finally meet up again. Will they play nice?

“Didn’t think YOU would pay a visit,” Sherlock muttered.

He sat with his knees tucked under his chin on his couch, and eyes fixed on the other empty couch in front of him. The man’s hair was disheveled, his clothes were wrinkled and his beard hadn’t seen a razor for weeks. 221B itself was no better. Paper work, coffee mugs, half-worked on experiments were thrown askew. Mrs. Hudson had done her best to keep the rest of the flat clean, but she gave up after the second month. Regardless, she hadn’t seem to have the motivation herself. Sherlock couldn’t blame her. He wondered vaguely if to a certain extent she blamed him. His eyes snapped up at his rival.

“Surprise, surprise,” Jim muttered. He himself looked no better. He was wearing a gray suit and had his hair gelled back, but it was drooping slightly and his eyes were red from lack of sleep. His voice didn’t hold the same chirpy tone that he usually gave when talking. It was fairly deadpanned and hoarse.

“Still in shock, are you?” Sherlock noted in a quiet voice.

Moriarty leaned against the doorframe and stared at the window, “Shock? Oh no, I don’t go through shocks. Startled, perhaps, but then, that’s what happens when you lose your best asset.”

The consulting detective sneered, “face it, he wasn’t simply an _asset._ There was something special between you two. There were feelings for him,”

“Feelings? Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t have FEELINGS for him,” Moriarity hissed. Both men met each other's gaze in silence until Moriarty cleared his throat, placing a calm expression on, “I had no romantic interest in my subordinate,” the consulting criminal squinted his eyes, considering something deeply, “he was loyal; I never feared he’d ever betray me. I suppose he never did,” he moved away from the wall and approached Holmes. The second simply followed his movements with his gaze.

“You know, Sherlock, I always say you were the only person to ever rival my intellect, that much has been obvious, but I always considered him on my level in some manner. He made me…" stopped moving as he became lost in his thoughts. His memories.

“He made you right,” Sherlock finished, looking away in thought, but Jim snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m a consulting criminal. He made me _calm_ ,” a small smirk bloomed, “Strange, isn’t it? You always did have withdrawals, didn’t you, Sherlock? Not too easy to get a mental fix with a moral compass, now is it? You have to wait until you get a call from your friends at the police station. Well I never did. I could always find crime anywhere. All I had to do was reach into my network and cause havoc.”

Sherlock gave a mirthless smile in return, “But it didn’t calm you down, did it?”

Moriarty’s smile disappeared, “Of course it didn’t. Everything was petty, or people failed to follow instruction,” his hands clenched into fists and his voice darkened, “I would go into RAGE with people-,“ he paused, his expression turning nonchalant, “and then he would be there. So composed, collected, and with a witty remark for everything. He was so interesting. Nothing seemed to faze him. It soothed my anger, and it allowed for a better thought process being around someone so composed, being that so many people fear me. He was my conductor.”

The consulting detecting turned sharply to the other man.

“And we killed them,” Moriarty stated, raising his brows, the corner of his mouth rising grimly.

“ _You_ killed them,” Sherlock spat out.

At this, Jim chuckled, “Oh no honey, this isn’t a mattered you can pin on just me. You played this game just as hard as I did.”

“You pushed it too far.”

Moriarty stood up gesturing his arms openly, “I’m a consulting criminal, Sherlock! You knew what you were stepping into. I WARNED you, and yet,” he bent forward leaning toward the consulting detective whispering darkly, “there you were, one step behind me.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth and unraveled himself from his curled up position, “Yet you couldn’t control anything. You had your plans, you had your perfectly placed guns and bombs, yet you couldn’t control HIM.”

Moriarty rose his chin, “My Sherlock, it takes one to know one,” the mans face morphed into complete rage, “because YOU COULDN’T CONTROL _HIM_ EITHER!!”

“THEY WEREN’T MEANT TO BE CONTROLLED!” Sherlock yelled back, his body straining and rigid from the rage vibrated within him.

Moriarty stared at him, and for the life of him, Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away, it was the truth, they both were to blame, and looking away would mean facing the real world, making that truth ever more real.

The criminal sighed through his nose.

“Your heart, -because we all know that’s what he was,- what was he like?” he asked, detached. He turned away from Sherlock and ran a hand across the armrest of the red couch. He pulled out his phone, writing a message to a faceless person, but as he typed, he continued speaking, “I never had a conscience. But my subordinate, can’t say he was necessarily my heart, but I guess we can set aside metaphors for another time. Anyhow, he was a _very_ accelerating man. Would’ve had him, too, if I could. But he was not so keen on keeping bosses and beds on the same plane.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Wise man.”

Moriarty glanced up from his phone, “taken, actually, by your little pet, apparently,” he looked back at his phone and continued to type, “it must have been more intimate for you, being on the softer end of the spectrum. Gushy, righteousness, or god forbid, _emotions._ But my pet, oh he was always there for me. I never needed to ask,” he finally put his phone away, “and he wasn’t simply a slave, either. No, no, no. He wasn’t just any other man holding a sniper, ready to shoot at my beck and call.”

“He thought things through,” Sherlock elaborated, “loyal, but to a fault. Which, within a paradox of itself, was what made him so loyal. He wasn’t afraid to take actions without my permission.”

“He wasn’t afraid of me.”

“He tolerated me, I daresay…”

“He seemed to… enjoy my presence.”

Silence lingered between them for a while. Moriarty glanced up at Sherlock and the second met his gaze curiously.

“He shot three bullets next to my head because he was mad at me before,” the man shrugged, “can’t recall what for, nor why, but let me tell you,” a small chuckle followed, “such events were not uncommon. I did love to see that perfectly calm expression morph into the uncontrolled fury. It was a daily goal.”

Sherlock gave a smirk, “Shooting walls is something of a habit in my part. But I do empathize with irritating him," the detective tilted his head to the side to demonstrate, "he'd always cock his head and give a tense smirk. As though any of my habits came as a shock. Petty things, really. Let's say that at least you never needed to concern yourself over petty things like being groused to retrieving groceries-“

“Groceries?” the consulting criminal snickered, “god, I’d never do any of that nonsense. I’ve got staff for that.” Looked around the place, “Well, he did retrieve articles for me. Bullets, grenades... bodies. I rather not get my hands soiled, so at the snap of my fingers he’d do the dirty work.”

Sherlock smiled, “They lived for that danger, didn’t they?”

“It was _their_ fix,” Moriarty smirked, “I could see it in his eyes, how lively he became. When I first met him, he had dead hateful eyes. After though joining my ranks, however, my baby turned into a maniac~.”

“Maniac, did he? My friend turned toward the reckless and dangerous himself.”

Moriarty rolled his eyes, “Please, he was cute, but not dangerous.”

The detective frowned, “He was clearly dangerous; almost killed you, in fact.”

“But he didn’t,” Jim stated in a sing song voice. Before Sherlock could speak up, Moriarty continued, “Really Sherly, limp, shaky hands? My subordinate, on the other hand, was unbelievably merciless.”

“Sniper, who handled his work behind a gun and without confrontations. I do believe that makes being merciless and scary quite easy. Not necessary to make quick decisions on hand and battle improvised hand to hand combat with people of different builds.”

Moriarty gave a dark chuckle, raising his hands, “No need to get touchy, Sherly. I suppose my rivalry even carries over to subordinates.”

Sherlock interlaced his hands and leaned forward, “He wasn’t my _subordinate_. He was my _friend_.”

Moriarty gave an unreadable expression, “Friend… Yes, I suppose… _he_ was my friend, not subordinate. Perhaps I just never knew it. Seeing as friends are not really my area.”

Another silence fell over them until Moriarty rolled on his heels and broke through the silence, “Well, enough of this chit chat. Had I only wanted to talk, I’d have done it over the phone. I came here for a reason.”

Sherlock stood up as well, “Is that so?” he question cautiously.

Moriarty turned away from him, “You ARE my rival Sherlock. Nothing will ever change that. No, not even the death of our subordinates could ever prevent this clashing.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “I will not allow my best friend’s death to be in vain.”

Moriarty smirked, “Nor would I.”

Moriarty drew his gun out and turned to point it at Sherlock, but was faced with the barrel of the detective’s gun, “Broken, yes, but I suppose there aren’t any cobwebs in that brain of yours yet.”

Sherlock scoffed, “Of course not.”

Both men had their guns trained to each other, their expressions blank.

“Don’t you wonder what when in their heads when they made their decision?” Sherlock inquired, suddenly. Jim simply gave a curious smile.

“They loved each other,” Sherlock stated, and Moriarty rolled his eyes, “Sherlock, I didn’t like it when you obvious before, please refrain from being so now.”

“Why do you think they killed each other? They could’ve easily eloped,” Sherlock continued, ignoring the statement, “There was no sure way to know that ending their lives would prevent us from killing each other. Look at as now, it’s as you said. Inevitable.”

“It’s not like they could’ve gotten far if they did elope, Sherlock. Not when it comes to us.”

“Was it because there was no other choice? Was it us, then? Or was it not loyalty weighing over love? I don’t know about your friend, but mine clearly had a romanticized perspective of life.”

“Regardless of the cold-blooded killing, it was the same with him,” Moriarty supplied.

Sherlock murmured in contemplation, “But wouldn’t that be all the more reason to place their love over their devotion? Why was their loyalty stronger? If they were so keen on their love, why couldn’t they fight to the death for it? That was, of course, their way of living. They’d rather fight than give up. Yet clearly, this seemed like giving up.”

Moriarty looked slightly slumped with this inquiry as well, “I don’t suppose we are ones to phantom emotion, are we? Regardless, who’s to say that they gave up?”

“Eloping would cause for betrayal, and betrayal was something they’d never be able to bring themselves to do.”

“Obviously. I had given the order to have you killed, and your friend decided to play hero by killing me…”

Another long pause loomed over them as they held each other at gunpoint.

“How did they even fall in love in the first place?” Sherlock thought out loud, “He was never predictable…”

At this comment they both looked at each other with confused faces. Neither seemed to be able to provide this answer. Guns slowly lowered and both men took on stances of thought. Sherlock sat down in the infamous thinking pose and Moriarty leaned against the couch and frowned in thought.

“How long, as well?” Sherlock chuckled ruefully.

“Oh they were clever,” Moriarty whispered.

“When would we have noticed them sneaking out to see each other? So wrapped up with ourselves?”

“Well let’s look through the facts, shall we?” Moriarty chuckled gleefully, sitting on the armrest of Sherlock’s chair, “I can’t possibly try to kill you if I can’t resolve this very important mystery.”

“You mean after _I_ solve it,” Sherlock replied with interest.

“You need data from my end, Sherly,” Moriarty sang.

“As do you,” the detective retorted.

“Fine, fine, we’ll share data. Can’t say I’ve never been a team player before,” he held his hands up; his gun pointing to the ceiling, “No killing until after we figure this mystery out. Then we’ll go back to killing each other.”

“Agreed.”

Sherlock laced his fingers, “The lovesick story between my dear John Watson-“

“And my sweet Sebastian Moran.”

 

_This time, we play_ their _game._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps this was the result the two had intended. After all, were they not always so very unpredictable?


End file.
